


A Storybrooke Storybook Christmas

by FrenchRoast



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchRoast/pseuds/FrenchRoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was my entry for the first round of the Rumbelle Showdown.</p>
<p>Prompts: Christmas, Regency, Perdita</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Storybrooke Storybook Christmas

As Belle finished dressing for the Storybrooke Storybook Christmas Party, she thought about the balls she had attended growing up.  Belle had only attended a few, but she loved the dressing up part of them, and the food, and the way she could so easily sneak off after a couple of hours and spend the rest of the evening reading in parts of the castle that were normally so loud but for that night, were completely empty.

Ruby and Jefferson had told her that this party wouldn’t be like a ball per se, but more like a costume party, since every year had a different theme. Regina had—of course—chosen the theme for the 28 years that the curse had lasted, always picking dreadful themes that required uncomfortable costumes. The worst had been 101 Dalmatians, which sounded like fun until no one could get the black sharpie spots to scrub off for weeks afterwards; it had been worse for Archie and Pongo, since the whole thing just reminded them that Perdita and the puppies were still missing. Upon learning that, Belle realized that maybe there had been an upside to being trapped in the psych ward for the entire curse. But there was no curse this year, and they’d chosen Pride & Prejudice as the theme after Snow asked Emma for some book recommendations; it seemed easier and more fun than “Where the Wild Things Are” or “Animorphs.”

Just when she was starting to wonder where Rumple was, she heard a light rap on the downstairs door to her apartment. That would be Rumple—or Mr. Gold, as most people here insisted on calling him. Belle did one final twirl in her new green gown, threw on her fur-lined burgundy coat, and raced down the stairs to the entryway. She paused for a second to decide on which of her favorite pairs of heels to slip on, stepped into them, then flung open the door. There he was, standing next to the door, cane in hand, looking very dashing dressed as an English lord. Her Rumplestiltskin.

“You look lovely, Belle,” he said shyly. And she did. Rumple couldn’t see the dress she was wearing under her coat, but she would’ve looked lovely in a grocery sack, if that’s all there was for her to wear.

Less shyly, Mr. Gold gestured a hand in the direction of the street, where Belle could see that instead of Rumple’s usual horseless contraption, there stood a lovely carriage with a chestnut horse to pull it.

“Your carriage awaits, dearie.”

“Oh, Rumple! It’s just like back home, in the Enchanted Forest!” Belle cried with glee. Rumple beamed, his face full of that knowing, confident smile that Belle had seen so much more of here than she had ever seen when she was with him in the Dark Castle. She wondered if it was because he was so much closer to reaching his son, or if it was because he no longer visibly looked like the Dark One, or if it was some combination of the two. Either way, it made Belle glad to see him truly confident, and not just pretending to be confident for the sake of keeping up appearances.

Rumple helped Belle into the carriage, which was more of a buggy-style. Rumple sat down next to Belle and took hold of the reins, then gave the horse the signal to go. They rode to the site of the Storybrooke Storybook Christmas Party together without incident, unless you counted Emma and Henry riding by in Emma’s bright yellow bug with Henry half-hanging out of the window yelling something ridiculous about “Operation: Sea Biscuit.” Which Rumple decided not to count, because it was completely out of his control, and it made Belle laugh anyway.

At the party, which was being held somewhere other than Granny’s (thank God, Rumple had thought to himself upon seeing the flyers; he liked the food just fine, but he could not abide that woman staring him down like he personally shot her pet cow and forced her to make hamburgers for him out of it),  Rumple and Belle had very different receptions by the various attendees. Rumple was used to being snubbed by most everyone; most either hated or feared him, and that was before the curse. But Belle…Belle was kindness and sweetness and beauty and intelligence, all wrapped up in a gorgeous green dress Rumple had conjured up for her out of a costume book depicting clothing from the era this Pride & Prejudice book was set in. The empire waist looked entrancing on Belle; even the dainty sleeves of the dress made her daintiness that much cuter. Of course everyone was noticing Belle. It was about time, at least that’s how Rumple saw it. Not that Belle begged for attention or tried to call attention to herself.

For a large part of the evening, Rumple stood near the punch bowls and occasionally fetched Belle a cup of punch; he was content that she was out making friends. Towards the end of the evening, Belle came over to him, looking cross.

“What’s wrong, dearie?” he asked, suddenly on alert. If someone had done something to Belle, they would have to answer to Mr. Gold. Or worse, to Rumplestiltskin.

“Well…” Belle hesitated. She looked into Rumple’s eyes expectantly. “I just thought that maybe you might want to dance,” she said, now looking down at her feet. Trying not to be too demanding. He had come to the Christmas party. She’d found out from Ruby that he had never attended the yearly Christmas party before; somehow he’d always managed to get out of it. Something about how he’d just say please when he asked if he could stay home instead.  But he had come. With her.  She looked back up. “It is a party, after all. There are people dancing.”

“Yes, there are,” Rumplestiltskin agreed.

“We could dance, too.”

“Would you like to dance, Belle?”

She smiled. “I’d love to dance, Rumple.”

He leaned his cane against the punch table and held out his hand to Belle; she took it and led him onto the dance floor, where they danced until they were the only ones left in the room.


End file.
